


Vices

by Asidian



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Bath Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Pseudo-Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What he needed was a long soak and a few minutes away from his own thoughts. What he needed was a little time to let himself stop worrying. What he needed, more than anything, was a few moments of peace away from his brother.</p><p>Typically, he had no sooner allowed himself to acknowledge it than he heard the sound of Thor’s voice, brash and high-spirited, booming down the corridor outside. “Brother!” The door to the bathhouse flew open with the force of a storm wind, banged loud against the stone of the interior wall. “There you are!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vices

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: My third Avengers fic. I asked one of my friends for a prompt and was given, “Thor/Loki, in the baths. Make it filthy.” Hopefully, this will suffice.

A life that had spanned many thousands of years, Loki reflected, had at the very least brought him the advantage of perspective. Yes, he was tired. Yes, he was covered in dirt and dried blood and bruises. Yes, every part of him ached. But the glory of perspective, the trickster told himself as he gingerly pried his shirt from his torso, was that he had, in his vast experience, had much worse days than this one. Chances were, he would have much worse days to follow.

And so when the fabric stuck to the newly-inflicted cut just below his ribs, when he winced as he tugged it free, he let out a long breath and reminded himself that a sparring session did not signal the arrival of Ragnarok. It was one final annoyance in a very, very long string of annoyances. That was all.

A final sharp yank freed him of the shirt along with a portion of dried blood, and the wound began, sluggishly, to bleed once more. Loki winced, probed it gingerly with his finger, and then decided it wasn't worth his time. It was painful, but not deep- nothing that would require bandaging. He folded the shirt and set it aside, then slipped with much less difficulty from his pants and folded those, as well.

What he needed was a long soak, before the ache of an endless day's training with his brother as the opponent had a chance to settle in. He had never been Thor's match in physical combat, never been able to best him with sword or spear or hammer, and on the days when his brother's enthusiasm ran rough-trod over both of their common sense and Loki agreed to accompany him to the training grounds, he often regretted it in the evening.

The baths would sooth away the worst of it, however, and Loki was already looking forward to the warm caress of the water as he lowered himself with care into the steaming pool. It was a simple enough structure, for all the glint and glory of the rest of the palace: carved blocks of stone, set into a circular pond in the floor. At Deildartunguhver, centuries ago, they had shown the Midgardians how to make a simpler version- not quite so elegant, nor on such a large scale, but the form of it had been the same. It was powered there, as here, with water warmed by the earth. Loki had never had cause to visit the baths on Midgard, but he thought of them from time to time, wondered whether there lived any mortals today who still told stories about the origins of the knowledge.

Likely not, he conceded, as he sighed and allowed the water to lap up over his shoulders. Likely, the creatures with their tiny lives and faulty memories had allowed it to slip into the past. He wondered what it must be like, sometimes- how it must feel, not to carry around centuries of complications, centuries of relationships forged and broken and twisted, centuries of good intentions marred by unfortunate circumstances. It must be liberating.

The god of mischief took a slow breath in and let it out again, purposefully pushing the thought from his mind.. He leaned back and let his eyes flutter closed, allowed the relaxing hold of the pool to coax the tension from his muscles.

What he needed was a long soak and a few minutes away from his own thoughts. What he needed was a little time to let himself stop worrying. What he needed, more than anything, was a few moments of peace away from his brother.

Typically, he had no sooner allowed himself to acknowledge it than he heard the sound of Thor's voice, brash and high-spirited, booming down the corridor outside.

“Brother!” The door to the bathhouse flew open with the force of a storm wind, banged loud against the stone of the interior wall. “There you are! I had hoped to find you in your chambers, but was thwarted in my efforts.”

“Hard as it may be to believe, I occasionally  _can_  be found elsewhere.” Reluctantly, Loki opened his eyes, just in time to see the thunderer deposit Mjolnir on the bathhouse floor as casually as he might toss aside a goblet.

“No matter,” his brother proclaimed. “If you will not trouble yourself to return, I shall join you here, instead.” With that, he began to unstrap his armor- practiced motions with clever, calloused fingers- before letting it fall to the floor beside the hammer. Next came the cloak, and Loki watched as the crimson cloth came billowing down, eyes skirting the flex of golden skin and muscle that the sudden lack of clothing revealed.

He turned his head toward the far wall, averted his gaze in what he told himself was annoyance. “Haven't you duties to attend?”

“They will wait a moment longer,” said Thor- and with the same lack of care that he'd spared the rest of his clothing, he discarded shirt and pants and smallclothes all. Bare seconds later, the bulk of his legs was displacing the water- and then a good deal more sloshed out, as he eased his way in. The thunderer sighed in pleasure. “One of your better ideas, brother.”

“All of my ideas are good,” Loki replied smoothly, one eyebrow lifting in catlike offense as he turned to regard his brother once more. “Whether you're able to appreciate the ones that require slightly more thought than instant gratification remains to be seen.”

Thor's laughter filled the chamber; it echoed from the walls, warm and rich. He reclined against the walls of the pool so that his hair dangled, the ends becoming damp. “Have a care,” he advised. “You nearly make the impression that you give in to temptation on occasion.”

Despite the distraction of Thor's damp skin, nearer than he would have liked it, Loki felt a spike of irritation at the words. “Because I've taken a moment for myself after a trying day?”

If his brother heard the ire behind the reply, he did not let on- only ran a large hand gently over the surface of the water, as though enjoying the feel of it between his fingers. “Because you admit to having more than one plan that gratifies instantly.”

Centuries of lies had taught Loki well the art of schooling his face into the shape he wished it; now, he caught the blush before it began, smoothed the spike of worry before it could show in the crease of his brow. “I am allowed to indulge from time to time,” the god of mischief replied, tone deceptively mild.

“You?” Thor shifted in the water, sending a small wave sloshing over the rim- angled his body so that he could watch his brother's face the better. “You, who slave away in Father's library as a means of passing the time you might spend in more pleasant ways? You who eat like a bird? You who take no maidens to bed, nor warriors neither?” One large hand enfolded his brother's shoulder, golden tan on pale. “Brother, if this is indulgence, I should hate to see you depriving yourself.”

He did not shudder at the touch as he might have, but surely even Thor- honest, foolish Thor, who stumbled nearer than he knew to secrets kept too long- must have noticed the way he stilled. Loki forced himself to motion again, instructed his lips to smile so that he might cover what lay beneath. “I have my vices,” he found himself admitting.

Again that laugh- deep and booming, as though the man it belonged to had not a care in the world. It was equal parts infuriating and intoxicating, as was everything about Asgard's beloved prince. “Your trickery, you mean?”

“Among others.” Loki licked his lips and forced himself to swallow, and when his brother removed the large hand once more, he felt oddly conflicted, unable to decide whether he was relieved or disappointed.

“Shall we make it a game of questions?” Thor's face was open with fond pleasure, and he regarded his brother as he reached for the soap off-handedly. “It has been long since we sought such amusement.”

Despite the distraction provided as Thor began to run the soap over the defined planes of his arms and shoulders, Loki found it in himself to roll his eyes. Looking away was easy enough to excuse; he masked it as a dismissal. “Because it has been long since we were of an age for such games.”

His brother, of course, ignored him. “Deception?”

Loki felt the beginnings of a smile curl at the corners of his lips, shook his head in acquiescence. “The ones you know already scarcely count.” He reached for a block of soap of his own- lifted it to his nose. When he found it not to his liking, the trickster waved a careless hand above it, allowing his magic to change the scent to one that better suited him.

The spark of mirth in Thor's eyes was unmistakable. “Vanity?”

“Grooming and vanity need not be one and the same,” came the arch reply, as Loki began to lather himself. “You would do well to discover the difference.”

Thor's laughter filled the chamber again, belly-deep and utterly unbothered. “Perhaps if you taught me, brother, I might yet have hope.”

Loki turned to frown at his brother, intending to display upon his face precisely what he thought of such mockery, but he froze midway as Asgard's golden prince rose unselfconsciously to begin washing the muscled stretch of his abdomen. He had prepared a scathing reply, but it withered in his throat as below the line of water his manhood stirred, began to stiffen. Loki swallowed again, more heavily this time, and willed his eyes to stay upon his brother's face.

“You should not need a tutor to instruct you in the art of bathing,” he managed, weakly. His own hand, which had been in the process of soaping what parts of him remained above the water, fell still.

“I do not,” Thor answered, voice jovial and unconcerned. “But I must confess, the attraction lies less in what is to be learned and more in the one doing the instructing.”

The thought of guiding his brother in such a way- here and now, when large hands with their block of soap were dipped near enough his hips to be indecent- did nothing to help the suddenly insistent ache that threaded through him, low and infuriatingly sweet.

But that selfsame thought might serve as an excuse, it occurred to Loki. It would be the simplest of lies- a carrying on of their banter, to get him a few moments approximating what he desired. To allow him his hands on that golden skin, smoothing over slick, wet warmth with the pretense of aid. It would be effortless, and the rewards enough to carry him through a century of sleepless nights. The words tingled on his lips; they burned on his tongue.

“You wanted a game of questions, as I recall,” he found himself saying instead. “Have you abandoned it so easily?”

“For one so intent upon not beginning at all,” Thor mused, “you remind me readily enough now that I had left off.” With the same casual indifference he'd granted the rest of the task, the god of thunder reached between his legs to clean.

If someone had informed Loki that the god of thunder had called down enough of his power to ignite a spark in the water, it would not have come as a surprise. That was how great the shock of wanting that ran through him was- as strong as a bolt from the sky, as strong as electricity, brilliant and intense. Loki felt his eyes pulled downward, the action as as inexorable as the decrees of the Norns. His throat worked in the instant before he forced himself to turn from the sight- and he consequently missed the slow, considering look that Thor had fixed upon him.

“But since you insist, brother, I will make one guess more.” There was the sloshing sound of water displaced as Thor moved- as he lowered himself into the bath, immediately across from the trickster god, and leaned forward to brace his hands along the rounded stone wall on either side of Loki's head.  _That_  was enough to cause Loki's gaze to snap back, wary and just a little wild.

Centuries of practice at deceiving others allowed him to roll his eyes; centuries of practice kept him still where he sat, safely unmoved by the temptation of his brother's bare skin near enough to touch. “Pray don't put yourself out on my account.”

Thor ignored him. “My guesses have been broad thus far,” he said. His eyes were fixed on Loki's face, thoughtful, and although the younger of Asgard's princes had always prided himself on being able to read his brother's moods at a glance, he could not make sense of the expression worn now. It was maddening- worse than that. It sent a tiny tendril of fear rippling through him, a terror that irrationally insisted Thor could see how rapidly the pulse in his neck was throbbing. Below the surface of the water, oblivious to his anxiety, Loki's cock hardened further.

“And wrong one and all,” the trickster god found himself saying, “save the few you'd prior knowledge of.” From his repertoire of smiles, he pulled up one meant to be teasing.

It faltered on his face and fled as one of Thor's hands, large and calloused, left the wall to touch the line of Loki's jaw. “Perhaps I ought have tried something more specific,” the thunder god mused- and then he was leaning in farther still, kissing his brother with the warmth and confidence he'd had time to perfect with the maidens of the court.

Unexpected would have been too mild a word. Unexpected would have been like comparing an excursion into the depths of Jotunheim to an outing on a pleasant spring morning. For the first time in memory, Loki felt his wits desert him- felt his tongue turn to lead in his mouth and could not find it in himself to care for the moist heat of Thor's tongue moving against it.

There was a moment's hesitation- a moment when he could not decide what to do nor make his body respond, in any case- and then Loki lifted both arms dripping from the water to wrap them around his brother. One grasped the back of Thor's neck, fingers threaded into damp hair, and the other slid around the broad back, found the curve of muscle there and traced it with fingertips intent upon every last sensation. When he firmed his grip and urged his brother forward, need dashing reservation to pieces upon sharp rocks fathoms below, the god of thunder moved with him, allowed himself to be drawn so that he straddled Loki's legs. It would be impossible, from this position, for him not to feel how hard Loki had become- and no sooner had the god of mischief realized it than one of those large, sure hands was reaching between them.

And then Loki's brother- Loki's perfect, infuriating, idiot of a brother- was palming his cock, was rubbing the length of it with his thumb, was taking it in hand and beginning to stroke.

There wasn't enough air through the kiss for the gasp he tried to pull in- wasn't enough air for the soft sound that tried to escape his throat, either, and for that he was grateful.

Thor's laughter was a breathless rumble against his lips as he pulled away. “Hard as steel already,” teased the god of thunder. “I daresay I guessed right.”

Denying it would have been futile while he was busy arching his hips that way, lifting himself into the touch of that warm, steady hand. “If you were expecting a prize, brother,” Loki managed, despite his shortness of breath, “I fear I shall have to disappoint you.”

Thor lowered his head, began to kiss along the column of the younger prince's throat. “Truly? Is there nothing at all you would be willing to give?” When he reached the collarbone, he began to use teeth- nips and grazes that heightened Loki's awareness of the downward progress to a fever pitch.

The hand caressing Thor's back became fingernails biting into it, and Loki's hips bucked up, unbidden, in an effort to encourage his brother's ministrations. “Perhaps... a token.” The younger prince took a shaky breath in and let it out again- took another in a continuing campaign to keep air in his lungs. “Perhaps I might be persuaded.”

The hand on Loki's erection let go, and there was a second- one blinding, wrenching second- when through the frustrated want, he was somehow sure that he had been mistaken. His brother was not the one prone to pranks and mischief; this Loki knew. But tonight, perhaps, he had been. Tonight, perhaps, the whole of it was meant for sport, and in the hall later, the golden prince of Asgard would sit surrounded by his adoring friends and tell the tale of how the silvertongue became tongue-tied over unrequited lust.

Then Thor was acting, his hands closing around Loki's hips to lift him bodily from the pool. He set his brother upon the lip of the bath as though he weighed no more than a cloth doll, shifted forward so that he was kneeling between spread legs. “Have no fear,” the god thunder told him. “I can be most persuasive.”

And with no more warning than that, Thor bent his head to the trickster's erection- licked at the underside with thorough, open-mouthed attention before pulling back. One hand angled the length of it gently downward so that he could pay the same attention to the top, and then to the slit at the very tip.

“Persuasive and infuriating,” Loki gasped, and threaded one of his hands through his brother's hair, “are scarcely synonymous.”

The flash of teeth as Thor grinned was soon vanished from sight as he put his mouth to more desired uses, finally taking pity upon his brother and allowing him full entrance. The slick warmth of it drew a groan from the god of mischief; one hand groped backwards, unconsciously, to prop himself upright even as the other tightened its grip and urged Thor nearer.

And Thor was indeed persuasive: once he had begun, he seemed poised to conquer, as though this too were a battle whose triumphant end would earn him glory. He threw himself into the task with an enthusiasm that was breathtaking, technique unrestrained but still very, very effective. His mouth bobbed up and down along the stiff length of Loki's cock, and each ripple of tongue, each compression of lips, each time that he  _swallowed_  uncovered for Loki sparks as bright as magic.

Despite himself, the trickster groaned again, pressed his mouth closed and tried to swallow the sound that threatened next. “Better,” he breathed, when he could speak. “But I may yet-” Something particularly enticing involving the back of Thor's throat distracted him for an instant, mid-sentence, and he paused to ride it out. “I may yet need convincing.”

It was as though he'd issued a challenge. Instantly, the pace became faster, the suction more sublime, the way his brother's tongue swiped the tip of him each time he reached the bottom more unbearably sweet. When Loki realized distantly that the steady slap of flesh on water was the sound of Thor working his own erection over, it was suddenly too much. He came with explosive intensity, biting hard on his own lower lip to keep the sounds of his pleasure trapped inside. The grip he had on his brother's hair was probably enough to hurt, but no complaint reached his ears, and an instant later Thor was shaking, too, head bowed and shoulders a hard line as he gave himself a last few strokes to ride through the pleasure.

After a moment filled only by the sound of ragged breathing and the lap of water, one of his brother's hands rose to stroke gently along his side, thumb skirting a bruise left in today's training session. It was beginning to heal already- beginning to yellow and fade, with his body's natural ability to repair its hurts. Thor leaned forward to press a kiss to it, half-growth of beard prickling the skin surrounding. “Have I swayed your mind?”

The god of mischief disentangled his fingers from his brother's hair and laughed- a soft sound, low and full of promise. “I daresay you have.” Pale fingers splayed across Thor's shoulders, stroked almost absently. “I owe you a boon, brother.”

“Verily.” A flash of teeth as the god of thunder grinned, and then another kiss, this time against a newly-formed scab. “But ere I claim it, I would know the rest of your vices.” Thor rose dripping from the bath to place the next kiss atop a graze on his shoulder. “My prize, I think, may yet be undecided.”

“What vile trickery is this?” Loki's eyes grew wide with pretended offense, the very picture of wounded innocence. “You ask my darkest secrets and offer no knowledge of your own?” The pressure on Thor's shoulder increased- drew him nearer, so that their faces were a bare handspan apart. “My honor demands a second round. I would claim the opportunity to procure a victory of my own.”

“By the Norns,” the god of thunder said, and inspected his brother's face. “I shall never become accustomed to the way you do that.”

The offense faded away, and the innocence as well, both eclipsed by a sly smile and canny eyes. In that instant, the god of mischief looked like nothing so much as a cat- well-pleased, petted and fed, smug and content beyond knowing. “Do what, brother mine?”

Thor shook his head, fond and exasperated both at once. “Claim with absolute sincerity things that are patently absurd.”

“Never before,” Loki told him earnestly, “have I been more sincere.” His other arm joined the first, looped round the god of thunder's broad back. “I wish another round.” The trickster leaned up, so that their lips brushed; the warmth of Thor's breath was near enough to feel like a caress. “And I wish it now.”

When he drew Thor down to kiss him, he was not met with any resistance.


End file.
